Voyage of the Dead - Book One Sovereign Spirit Saga

by Forsyth, David

  George felt himself shaking slightly as he stepped around the body. He noticed that Fred had been wearing a bandage on his left arm. Had one of the other zombies bitten him? George hoped that was what had infected Fred and not an airborne virus that George might be breathing, or that Molly and the boys might have already caught.

  “Daddy!” his daughter screamed from upstairs for perhaps the third or fourth time following the two gunshots. He finally reacted to it.

  “It’s OK, Molly,” George called, even though it clearly wasn’t, since he had just shot her husband. “Get the boys and come down the front stairs. We’ll go out through the door to the pool. Hurry! We have to leave now!” He felt they could afford the extra 30 seconds it would take for them to avoid coming through the kitchen. It would be better if they didn’t have to see Fred. George stared down at the body. It was not a sight that any wife or son of that man would want to have as their last memory of him.

  “We’re coming, Dad,” she called back. “Is Fred…?”

  “It’s okay. He’s not coming with us, honey. Just hurry.”

  “Okay Daddy,” she said with a tremble in her voice. “Pablo and Maria are here with us too. So is Hector.”

  “Bring everyone and hurry. Leave everything except weapons, if you have them. Just move. Now!” George bellowed. He heard feet pounding upstairs and turned away from Fred’s body to meet them in the living room. Molly came running down the main stairs with little Brett. Hector Suarez, George’s foreman, followed with Brett’s five year old twin brother, Timmy, in toe. Hector also carried a sharp looking machete in his other had. Good man, thought George as he nodded at him. Pablo Mendoza, George’s project engineer, and his wife Maria came down last and fast.

  Thirty seconds later they were all at the RV. George pulled his keys out of his pocket, opened the door, waved everyone in, and then waved to the helicopter that was circling out over the ocean, apparently drawing any zombies on that side of the mountain towards the beach. Scott or one of the other men must have seen him, because the chopper banked towards them and rose to provide air cover for their escape.

  George jumped into the driver’s seat and fired up the diesel engine. Reaching above the sun visor he grabbed the remote control for the ten foot high gate to the property. The RV was already pointed in the right direction. After making sure that all the doors and windows were closed and locked, George shifted into drive and clicked the remote. The gate slid open smoothly. “Thank God for solar power! Hang on!” he yelled and gunned the engine.

  *****

  “There they are!” said Mark as he spotted the group boarding the RV parked at Scott’s estate on the hillside above the Pacific Ocean. “Let’s roll!”

  “Rolling!” replied Mick Williams as he banked towards the mountain. “Looks like most of the freaks are out of the way.” Sure enough, all of the zombies visible on that side of the mountain had moved down towards the beach as the helicopter had swept back and forth along the Pacific coast.

  “Okay,” said Scott. “Let’s take point for them. We’ll fly the route over the hill. Weapons free for any zombies on that road. Got it?”

  “Charlie Mike,” said Mark. Clint gave a thumbs up. Mick flew the chopper over the RV as it pulled out of the driveway and the chopper continued up and over the hill at reduced airspeed. Two zombies came away from the door of a house up the street and moved quickly towards the approaching RV. Mark was hanging out the side door of the chopper, relying on his safety harness. He fired four shots in rapid succession. Both zombies dropped with at least one head shot each.

  “There’s another one!” called Clint. Scott looked down where he pointed and saw a woman open the door of the house and run out onto the road. She was disheveled and moving erratically but not acting quite like a zombie. She was waving her arms and swinging her head to look back and forth between the helicopter above her and the RV coming up the street. Her mouth opened to form what looked like words, not just gaping jaws.

  “Hold your fire!” yelled Scott. “I don’t think she’s a zombie. Let’s see how George handles this.”

  *****

  George was glad to see the helicopter fire on the two zombies that ran onto the road in front of him, even happier to see their heads blown open and watch them fall dead – really dead. But then he was shocked to see a woman run into the road waving her arms. He recognized her. She was one of the residents on this street, a young and normally attractive American woman who he had often seen with her older husband during the eight months George had spent building Scott’s house. Today she looked frightful, but more than that, frightened. Not the look of a zombie. She was giving him a look like a deer caught in his headlights.

  “Shit,” said George. “Hang on folks. We’re going to stop for a second. I know this lady and I don’t think she’s a zombie.” He hit the brakes and pulled up next to her. As he rolled down his window part way he heard her babbling fearfully.

  “Thank God, thank God! Help me. They killed my husband!” she screamed.

  “Did they bite you?” yelled George.

  “No! We were going out to the car yesterday to leave for the airport when they jumped Earl. They killed him! Tore him apart! But I ran back inside and locked the door. They’ve been pounding on it ever since. I was so scared. Then I heard the helicopter and I saw them get shot. And then I ran out and saw you. Please take me with you!”

  “Are you alone?” George asked.

  “Yes! Please don’t leave me here. Please!” This required a split second decision.

  “OK, go around to the other door. We have to go right now.” George had a feeling he might regret this decision, but he still had his sense of humanity intact.

  *****

  “What’s he doing?” asked Clint.

  “He’s saving her,” replied Scott.

  “Risky,” Mark commented in his patented dead-pan tone of noncommittal voice.

  “But it’s the right thing to do,” said Mick with a little passion.

  “Yeah,” confirmed Scott. “I wish we could save more. George has the right idea. I just hope it doesn’t get him killed or infected. The old rules may not work anymore, but I’m glad George is trying to push the envelope. Every life counts, especially now.”

  They watched as the woman got into the RV and it pulled away. The rest of the road to the top of the hill was clear. As they crested the ridge, however, things got more complicated. There were two roads down towards the harbor. One of them had the overturned car blocking part of it. The other had at least a dozen zombies on it and they had turned up towards the RV when it crested the hill.

  George turned the RV onto the road with the overturned car. He accelerated smoothly towards the obstruction then slowed to a crawl. The RV butted into the rear end of the upturned car and pivoted it around to make way for the big vehicle to pass. It scraped by with obvious but superficial damage and continued down the hill towards the harbor. The men in the helicopter released their breath that had been held in tension and looked down at the rest of the obstacle course to the docks. There was no way for the RV to avoid the swarm of zombies that were milling around the parking lot along the harbor.

  “We need to clear a path near the gate to the dock,” said Scott. “Let’s sweep low and slow to draw as many as we can east, towards town. Then we can shoot a few in the head to keep most of them there and swing back to the harbor to give close air support when George and his people go for the gate.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Mick. He dropped the nose of the helicopter and swooped down towards the harbor. Seconds later we they were hovering over a horde of gaping zombies. Mick worked the rudders and stick to side slip down the quays. Most of the zombies turned with them and followed en mass.

  “Good work, Mick,” said Scott. “Let’s just keep them moving this way. Down to the end of the harbor should do it. Then we can swing back to take care of any left by the gate when the RV gets there.”

  *****

  Georg
e felt the ripping tear of metal in his gut when he plowed past the overturned BMW on the road down from Pedregal. His RV would have needed a lot of body work, if he cared about it anymore. Now his only priority was making sure that it got him to the dock. He didn’t expect to ever see it again after that.

  “Thanks for taking me with you,” said the woman they had just rescued. “My name is Carla Mathews. Where are we going?”

  “I’m George Hammer and I wish I could say it’s nice to meet you too. We’re going to a boat in the harbor and then out to sea, it’s our only chance, Carla. The helicopter will give us as much cover as they can, but we may need to fight our way to the gate of the dock.”

  “Okay,” said the woman meekly. “Just tell me what to do.”

  “Follow the ninos when we get out, Senora,” said Hector. “Go with the women and children to the gate. Pablo and I will guard you while Mr. George gets the gate open.”

  “Good plan, Hector,” said George as he swung the RV around a corner in the road down the hill. “But I’m the one with a gun. Maybe you should open the gate for them. Here’s the key.” George leaned back to pass Hector the key just as a zombie jumped out of the bushes. The RV hit him head-on and George had to wrestle for control against instinct as they drifted toward the hundred foot drop-off on the right hand side of the road. The front tire dug into the dirt shoulder and the RV swayed over dangerously. George gunned the engine and felt the big vehicle fishtail towards the abyss. Then the tires grabbed traction and the RV snapped back onto the road. Close call, thought George. “Okay, okay, hang on. This is an E ticket ride kids.”

  The kids and women had all let out at least small screams. It was only natural; just like George’s automatic jerk of the wheel when a “person” ran in front of the RV. But now George realized that the rules had changed. Those were Scott’s words earlier, but now they rang true in George’s head. It didn’t matter that he had just run down someone. It didn’t matter that he had shot his son-in-law in the chest and forehead a few minutes ago. It didn’t matter because they were not people, not anymore. All that mattered was keeping his family and friends safe, plus rescuing a lady in distress. George made a conscious decision to turn into the next zombie that crossed his path.

  “Where are the keys, jeffe?” asked Hector.

  “Shit!” groaned George. “I must have dropped them when we hit that bastard. Look for them, quick. They have an orange float on the ring. We need them! The keys are for the gate to the dock, the doors to the boat, and the boat’s ignition. They must be down on the floor.”

  Hector and Carla both began to search the floor of the RV for the keys. George continued to curse silently and stared at the road as he assured himself that there was no way that the keys had been thrown out the slightly open window. No, they must be in the RV. But they were not in any obvious place, because Hector and Carla were still searching as George drove the motor home out through the gates of Pedregal and crossed the street into the parking lot of the harbor.

  *****

  Scott watched the RV make its precarious way down the hill and into the harbor parking lot. Most of the zombies had followed the helicopter away from that end of the harbor, but dozens more had arrived from the condos and hotels on the hills west of the harbor. Mark and Clint were both taking measured single shots at the heads of zombies who led the mob after the chopper, inviting more zombies to feast on the spilled brains.

  “The RV is at the harbor,” said Scott. “Let’s swing up the hill to draw these freaks inland for a few seconds and then back to the dock to cover their escape.”

  “Roger that,” said Mick as he banked the chopper up into a steep turn.

  “Movement!” called out Mark. “We have a military vehicle coming in from the direction of the airport!” Scott had been half expecting that. He turned and spotted what looked like a light armored personnel carrier plowing through the mob of zombies that they had left at the crossroads. It was a six wheeled APC that was probably amphibious and had some sort of automatic weapon turret. This could be trouble.

  “Stick to the plan,” said Scott.

  “Charlie Mike,” responded Mark. Clint was busy reloading his BAR. Mick was concentrating on flying. Scott had a few moments to spare for worry.

  *****

  George saw that most of the zombies had moved away from his end of the harbor. The helicopter must have drawn them off as planned. Then he noticed more of the bastards swarming into the parking lot from the west. Timing was critical. He needed a clear spot near the gate to get out of the RV and onto the dock. It didn’t look good. But there were ways to change it. George swerved right, towards the west end of the parking lot, and took deliberate aim at the closest bunch of zombies. They came at the RV with open arms and mouths. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The RV plowed the zombies down with ease. George wasn’t sure how many heads were busted, but he would settle for broken legs and backs, as long as it kept them immobile for a few minutes. He navigated the RV through the scattered cars in the lot and aimed for more of the bastards. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! This was almost like an arcade game.

  As he turned the RV around at the west end of the parking lot, George saw that he had succeeded in drawing all of the zombies away from the gate to the dock. The ones closest were now running away from the gate, towards the RV, and the new arrivals were veering his way too. Many of the zombies were clustered around a few of the ones he had run over, probably eating their brains. The rest, perhaps fifty of them, were focused on the RV and moving towards it with a purpose. George had never been great at math, but he had a mind for practical geometry and basic physics – helpful things in the construction industry. He saw that it would be wrong to drive straight back to the gate. The ones in between would simply turn and cut them off, if he didn’t run them all down. No, it was better to swing wide, drawing them all farther away, and then plow through them to the objective at high speed. So be it.

  *****

  “Looks like George is playing Pac Man with those zombies in the parking lot,” commented Mick Williams as they flew back over the harbor.

  “Good analogy,” responded Scott. “He’s got them swarming away from the dock and it looks like he’s taken a bunch of them out of action too. I just hope he doesn’t waste any time. The rest of the mob is turning back behind us and we can’t risk herding them off again with that APC coming this way.”

  “There he goes!” exclaimed Clint. “He’s plowing through them towards the gate.”

  “About time,” chimed in Mark. “Get some!”

  *****

  George saw the right angle develop among the crowd of zombies and took the chance, swinging the RV back towards the gate and gunning it through a group of at least a dozen zombies. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! They smashed into and splattered away from the charging vehicle with resounding impacts. It felt as good as it was disgusting. And then the way was clear. No zombies between the RV and the gate.

  “Find those damned keys!” yelled George.

  “I see them under your seat! Behind your feet,” replied Carla breathlessly. “I can’t reach them until you get out.”

  “OK,” George said, “Now your job is to grab them as soon as we stop. Keep your eyes on them. You have to get them to the gate. Got it?”

  “Yes,” she said with a little more confidence. “I can do that.”

  “Good. Get ready everyone! Here we are.” George slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel so the RV skidded around parallel to the gate. It would block the first of the zombies for a few seconds. “Let’s go!”

  The driver’s door faced the parking lot and George pulled his pistol as he opened that door and jumped out. The nearest zombie was fifty feet away and closing fast. George took careful aim and was about to fire when a rifle bullet from above and behind blew its head apart. Thank God for close air cover. The next closest zombies were more than a hundred feet away and George saw his chance to move around the front of the RV towards the gate. He was carefu
l not to touch any of the zombie blood that was still pouring off of the front grill.

  “Over here, Senora Carla,” called Hector. “Bring me the keys!”

  “Coming!” yelled Carla as she stumbled out of the side door of the RV. “Here are the keys!” She pulled her arm back and threw them towards the gate. It was a bad throw. Not her fault, really. The action was charged with fear and adrenalin, plus her near state of shock. The keys flew much farther and higher than intended, over the gate and down onto the dock, where they bounced off into the water. Just then the first zombie came around the rear end of the RV. They were all doomed! Everyone froze in the terror of disbelief for a second or two. Then a voice from a loudspeaker above them broke the spell.

  *****

  “Forget the gate! Jump into the water! Now!” yelled Scott over the helicopter’s PA speakers from a hundred yards away. “Zombies don’t swim. Jump in now!” He had watched George’s escape and everything else they had seen today unfold with a mind that was always looking for hidden meaning. When the keys with the bright orange float went into the water it had first brought despair, then a moment of brilliant insight. “Get into the water NOW!” yelled Scott again. “THEY’RE AFRAID OF WATER!” It was just an educated guess, but sounding confident was better than just watching everyone get eaten alive in front of that gate. “Cover them,” Scott added unnecessarily on the intercom.